The Dead Falcon (The Eastern Slave Series Book 4)

by Victor Poole

  "Get out, get out now," Ajalia told Rane, dragging him with her towards the hall, and the stairs.

  "What is it?" Rane asked. After the first shock of her movement, he had followed her without resisting. They came to the door, and Ajalia went through. Rane followed her, and as she grasped the handle of the metal door, and pulled it sharply closed, she heard a muffled bang, and a loud clatter that sounded like shattering pieces of stone.

  Ajalia listened at the door, her ear pressed against the metal. Rane was standing in the hall, his arms half-raised, his face turned eagerly towards her.

  "What do you think it was?" Rane asked. Ajalia saw that Rane was like her. She saw that Rane was curious, before he was afraid, and she smiled. She thought that Rane and Delmar would get along well, once she had convinced Delmar that she was sturdy enough to withstand hopeful stares. She had not yet seen Delmar around Ocher and herself with his father out of his brain; Delmar had been jealous before, but Ajalia hoped that the jealousy had come from fear and doubt caused by his father, and that it had not sprung directly from Delmar's heart. She told herself that Delmar would adjust, but she was not sure if this was true. If he was going to be genuinely jealous, she reflected, she would have to break him into the idea of collaboration with men gradually. She had no intention of not speaking to Rane or Ocher, just because they admired her.

  "He sounds as though he's destroyed half the room," Ajalia told Rane. "Should we go in and see?" A part of her brain was thinking of poison, but she did not think that there would be anything dangerous, now that the crash had settled into silence. People from the downstairs, and from other rooms on this floor, were beginning to approach. Some of them poked their heads out of their doors. When these people saw that Ajalia and Rane were outside Tree's door, they made sour faces, and went back into their rooms. Ajalia suspected that Tree had made a practice of annoying his neighbors.

  A collection of downstairs neighbors came up in a group.

  "What is he doing now?" one of the men demanded, his eyes clear and angry.

  "I just got my daughter to sleep," another woman complained. Ajalia could hear an angry series of infant screams coming up the stairs.

  "I think he's killed himself," Ajalia murmured to Rane, and Rane held back a laugh. Rane pressed past Ajalia and opened the door; she could see from his face that Rane was acutely aware of the way his clothes scraped against her arm. He blushed, and ducked into the room. Ajalia bit back a smile. She did not know why she was suddenly being attractive to Rane. She had not had this effect on strangers before. In fact, she reflected, Delmar was the first male person who had followed her with an obviously interested expression in his eyes, and Philas had followed Delmar's lead at once. Philas didn't count, Ajalia told herself, and she watched the residents of the tenement gather into a column of angry concern.

  "What are you going to do about the old man?" one of the neighbors demanded. He took in the shape and texture of Ajalia's clothes, and her pinned-up hair. Ajalia realized that these people probably took her for one of the old Thief Lord's young women. She wondered why the two young ladies with the long hair had not come with Tree to his house. A vague suspicion began to blossom in Ajalia's mind; the rug-carrying girls had known, Ajalia thought, about traps in the house. She told herself to find the two young women, and the young man who had walked before Tree, to question them.

  Rane poked his head out of the room. His dark hair was coated with dust, and a white smear of powder was along one cheek. He looked at Ajalia, and then glanced at the gathering of people.

  "He's dead," Rane said. A ragged cheer went up in the stairwell; most of the neighbors went downstairs at once, talking to each other in loud voices.

  "I thought he would never die," the man said who had spoken first. His eyes went to the door. "Can I come and look?" he asked.

  "No," Ajalia said.

  "Yes," Rane said at the same time, smiling in a conspiratorial way.

  "No," Ajalia said firmly, meeting Rane's eyes. Rane was looking at her in a particularly attentive way; Ajalia felt an uncomfortable flutter in her stomach. Why, she asked herself, was Rane behaving like this? He had not, she remembered, seemed to think much of her the first time they had met. "No," Ajalia said again, pushing past Rane into the room. "Goodbye," she said clearly to the few neighbors who stood hopefully about in the landing, and she closed the door on them.

  "You're sure he's dead?" she asked Rane, who was still staring at her with a sappy look in his eyes. "What?" she demanded. Rane didn't say anything. He kept smiling at her. Ajalia went through the main room and into the place where Tree had stood. She caught her breath. Rane followed her; she could feel him standing just behind her. She did not look at him. She stepped farther into the room, to get away from the heat she could feel radiating out from Rane's chest and shoulders. Rane is being ridiculous, Ajalia told herself. She wished that Delmar was standing nearby; she suddenly missed his large and protectively shoulders.

  "He must have gotten some explosives," Rane said, "from the mines."

  "You have explosives?" Ajalia asked. She had heard stories of powder that burned liked exploding stars of heat, but she had never seen any. "I thought they only had those in Saroyan," she said.

  "We buy them for the mines," Rane said. He went past her to the shattered mass of blood and splintered bone that had recently been Tree, and plucked at a long piece of cloak. "See?" Rane said, lifting the fragment of brown cloth. It was a cloak like the one the guard had given Ajalia, the cloak that he had told her was like those the priests wore. The brown fabric had blackened edges, and spatters of blood had covered everything. Ajalia was surprised that she could not find large chunks of Tree left. There was blood all over the room, and there were white splinters of bone clearly visible among the wreckage, but she could not find any large pieces of the old man.

  "Why did he explode like this?" Ajalia asked. She looked at Rane, and realized for the first time that the man of Talbos had the white brand. She had seen him, with the other Slavithe people in the receiving hall, and his white shine had blended into the general glare of the white brands in the room. Now she looked at Rane, and she saw that he was pure of heart, like Delmar was, and like Ocher.

  "He was lived in by a witch, and drained," Rane explained. "If he ever was a good man, which I doubt, most of his vitality was gone by the time Ocher took him on."

  Ajalia opened her mouth to ask, but Rane saw her question, and answered before she spoke.

  "When a person does not have a white brand," Rane said, "but is in a position of power or privilege, it is not uncommon for one with a brand to share their power, to cover the insufficiency within the one without a white brand."

  "That sounds like a terrible idea," Ajalia said. "And why did Delmar give me the thing, then?" she demanded. "I have a white brand," she said. "Delmar told me so," she added, though she could see the shimmer of her own white mark.

  "You are not Slavithe," Rane said, and his mouth was creased in a way that showed annoyance, and some bitterness. "They don't want to admit that others can carry a white brand," he said. Ajalia looked at Rane again, and she saw the bruises, and the blood on his face.

  "So they don't think you count," Ajalia said. Rane nodded. "Well, that's stupid," Ajalia said. "I'll sponsor you. Can I do things like that now?" she demanded. Rane grinned at her, and laughed.

  "You count as Slavithe now," he said.

  "Well," Ajalia said, looking around the room. "Is there anything here we should take with us? I don't know how to conjure my soul," she explained. "I'll get you in, after I learn that."

  Ajalia did not quite like the way Rane was searching her with his eyes. She wondered suddenly how much of her colored lights he could see.

  "Can you see colors," Ajalia asked, "like I can?" Rane picked his way through the blood, and picked up a pile of papers, and a few books.

  "I'm not sure what you mean," Rane said. He stepped over the thickest part of the blood, and looked through the cupboard wh
ere Tree had been pulling the clothes down. Rane let out a bark of laughter, and waved at Ajalia. "Look at this," he said, pulling aside the cupboard door, which hung askew, and had been partially destroyed by the blast. Ajalia eyed the blood on the floor. She did not want to get blood on her clean robes.

  "Tell me what it is," she suggested, looking around the shattered room in distaste. Rane looked suddenly disappointed, and Ajalia had a flash of intuition. "Are you trying to get me into a corner," Ajalia demanded, "so that you can try to kiss me?" Rane's face turned crimson.

  "No," he said, too quickly. Ajalia glared at Rane.

  "Do we need anything else?" she asked him. She still had the block of wood in her hand. She had put her knife away when she had gotten out into the hall with Rane; she could feel it resting now along her spine. Rane seemed to follow her thought; his mouth turned down at the corners.

  "Are you in love with him?" Rane asked. Ajalia did not want to dignify this question with an answer, but she met Rane's eyes boldly.

  "I do not like being tricked," she said.

  "Well, then you won't like what's in the cupboard," Rane said, half under his breath, and Ajalia picked her way carefully through the mess to see. Rane stepped pointedly to the side, to give her space, and she shot him a mistrustful glance before looking into the wooden closet.

  Tree had pulled most of the clothes down from the cupboard before he had blown himself up; on the back of the cupboard, scrawled in red paint, was a message that had been carefully laid over a sheet of white stone that was fixed there with hooks.

  "After I die," Ajalia read aloud, "my wife will be free. She will come back, and haunt the new Thief Lord. You will never get rid of me, Simon." Ajalia wrinkled her nose at the red letters. "What is this?" she asked Rane, pointing at the red message. Rane shifted a little; he looked uncomfortable.

  "It's a kind of spell," Rane said, "that the worst witches used. They would bond their sons to their husbands, and then pass on their magic to their daughters-in-law."

  "So Lilleth was in cahoots with Tree's dead wife?" Ajalia asked. She found this hard to believe, but, she reminded herself, she had been learning that magic was real. Perhaps, she thought, there were parts of life that she did not know everything about yet.

  "Not exactly," Rane said. "Tree's wife wasn't a ghost, or anything. People can't rise from the dead. But she put herself, a part of herself, into Tree, and into Simon. When Simon married," Rane said, "the magic passed into Lilleth. It is part of why the people here hated him so much."

  "But Simon is not a son of Tree," Ajalia said, frowning. "Simon is from Talbos."

  "Simon is a prince of Talbos," Rane agreed, "and when he was a very young man, younger than Wall, he came to Slavithe to fight the witches."

  "Delmar said he was running supplies," Ajalia said.

  "Well, that's what he was told to do," Rane said with a flashing smile. "But he wanted to fight witches."

  "And he never had a white brand," Ajalia guessed.

  "No, he never had a white brand," Rane said.

  "So how did he fight witches?" Ajalia asked. Rane's face twisted into an expression of disgust. "How?" Ajalia demanded. She looked around at the floating white dust in the room. Debris had scattered against the walls and the floor; a piece of the floor where they stood had cracked a little, as though it had been impacted with a sledgehammer.

  "Simon made a deal with Tree, and with Tree's wife," Rane said slowly.

  "How do you know all this?" Ajalia asked. Rane smiled at her question.

  "You're smarter than Delmar," he said.

  "Don't try to get me on your side, it won't work," Ajalia snapped. Rane's face lost some of its charming friendliness. He looked peeved.

  "I know things because I'm clever, and I've been around for most of the time," Rane said. "As has Beryl," he admitted. "I was here first," Rane said. "I went back to report, and was sent back with Beryl."

  "How did you get away with going to Talbos all the time?" Ajalia asked. "And where did the people here think you came from?"

  "I was in the quarries since I was a child," Rane said. "My parents planted me there."

  Ajalia thought at once of Leed, and of the boy's quick eyes, and his ability to remember things. She pressed her lips together, and took an internal determination to hunt down Leed. She had expected the boy to come and find her, long ago, and now she suspected Philas of holding onto the boy on purpose, to bother her. Philas would guess, she thought, that she wanted Leed. Ajalia was not sure if she was being paranoid, but she would not put it past Philas to be so sneaky and low. She was sure now that Leed was like Rane, a child planted in the quarries, and left to grow into a man of Slavithe. Leed had told her that his parents had run away to Talbos when they had gotten into debt, but Ajalia was sure now that Leed was originally from Talbos. She remembered the way that the boy had spoken of his uncle, who lived in the wild gangs in the mountains, and how he had said his uncle met with the elders. She was sure that these elders were the remnants of the temple priests from Talbos.

  "So you were abandoned as a child," Ajalia said.

  "Not exactly," Rane said.

  "Yes, exactly that," Ajalia said. "And then you grew up, and your only purpose was to bring information to the king of Talbos."

  "No," Rane said, but he looked a little conflicted. "Well, sort of," he amended. Ajalia decided that she did not like the king of Talbos at all.

  "I met another one like you," Ajalia told Rane. "His name is Leed. He has an uncle in the gang of robbers up near the northern pass." Rane smiled. "Do you know Leed?" Ajalia demanded. Rane shook his head.

  "I've never met him," Rane said. "I'm sure he's a very nice boy." Ajalia saw that Rane doubted her word. She saw that he thought she was speculating wildly.

  "If you're hoping I'm going to fall madly in love with you," Ajalia told him, "you should know that you're making me pretty angry right now." Rane's smile faltered.

  "I don't want you to . . ." his voice trailed away. She saw that he was too embarrassed to say the word that she had said. She frowned at him.

  "Delmar is honest," Ajalia told Rane. "That is why I trust him." She turned back to the stone where the red message was scrawled. "Do we need to take this anywhere?" she asked, a sour taste in her mouth. Rane shook his head.

  "We can break it up, if you like," he suggested. "So the neighbors don't see it," he put in. Ajalia turned, and put her hands on her hips.

  "Go and get Delmar," she said. "And when he comes, you come too. He needs to hear the things you're telling me." Rane's face darkened.

  "I'm not going to tell you things anymore," Rane threatened, "if you're just going to tell everything to Delmar."

  "Rane," Ajalia said. She was not sure what else to say; she was beginning to feel rage bubbling low in her gut. "Rane," she said again.

  "Yes," Rane said evenly. Ajalia took a deep breath.

  "Are you afraid of something?" Ajalia asked him. He frowned at her, as though she had taken him by surprise.

  "No," Rane said.

  "Yes, you are," Ajalia told him. "You have a nervous twitch, right around the corner of your mouth."

  "I do not have any twitch!" Rane cried indignantly. "That is not true," he added vehemently.

  "Rane," Ajalia said. She felt calm now that she had caught Rane in an untruth. She always felt calmer, when she knew how someone was lying to her. She could chase down truth easily enough, once she found where the shadow lay over the top of it.

  "I'm not lying!" Rane said.

  "Are you afraid that Beryl's left something in you?" Ajalia asked him. His eyes widened a little, and his chin bumped down towards his neck.

  "No," Rane said, but he didn't sound sure.

  "She was a witch," Ajalia said. "Did you know that she and Lilleth killed people?"

  "Witches don't kill people," Rane said instantly. Ajalia looked at him, and his eyebrows drew together. "They don't!" he insisted. "They take parts of your soul out, and they drain out your . .
. life," he finished. Ajalia grimaced at Rane, and Rane's face turned into a snarl. "Well, we aren't used to saying things like that," he said defensively.

  "Why?" Ajalia asked. Rane looked uncomfortable under the stream of her questions.

  "You don't give up easily," Rane said. Ajalia stared at him. "Well, Lilleth is the daughter of Tree and his wife."

  "Does she have a name?" Ajalia asked. Rane shifted again.

  "We do not say her name," he said.

  "Why?" Ajalia asked.

  "It is not done!" Rane exclaimed. "That is the way things are here." Ajalia looked at Rane, and her mouth was drawn in a grim line.

  "Not anymore," Ajalia said. "Come on," she said, and stepped carefully through the spatters of blood that were drying on the walls and the floor.

  "Where are you going?" Rane demanded. He followed her, stepping through the shattered pieces of bone, his face flushed and angry.

  "We're going to clear things up," Ajalia said. She glanced back at the room where Tree's bare remains were scattered. "We need to lock the door," she said. She imagined that Tree's key was somewhere deep in the folds of his tunic, which now had burned away to scraps. She did not want to hunt through the mess and scraps for the probably bloody key. They came to the front door, and Ajalia hesitated again.

  "I can't trust you," she complained. "I can't leave this room as it is, and I need Delmar and Ocher here," she added. She glared at Rane, as though she could make the other two men appear if she concentrated hard enough. She still held the dark block of wood in her hand.

  "You can trust me," Rane said aggressively.

  "Prove it," Ajalia snapped. Rane glared at her, his brows drawn low over his eyes.